Pressure on the Wound
by Tangledupandsideways
Summary: I'll have to make it hurt worse if I'm to save you, so I'll tell you I don't love you until you believe it to be truth. (Post Killer App)


_"I don't love you, but I always will"_

 _-Poison and Wine_

 _The Civil Wars_

He can see tears brimming in her eyes, despite her efforts to blink them away. She's telling him that she's okay, that he can leave and he thinks of how many times he's heard that from her. He always stays. Then again, those tears were never really caused by him. This time, he had put them there. He had hurt her. And it's killing him, it is.

He has to do it. He can't think of any other way. He doesn't know how else he can save her from this, from _him._ It doesn't even matter that he had lied to her, the words tearing along his throat with the sharpness of their meaning, their claws. It doesn't matter that he wanted to say something completely different. He doesn't matter, she does. She's everything. And what he wants, it'll destroy her. It'll take the last broken bits of her heart and crush them into a fine powder.

He swallows against the lump in his throat, the lump that makes him feel like he's being suffocated.

"I'm sorry," he rasps.

That part, it's true. And he doesn't even try to hide his shame. She would hear it in the quiet trembling of his voice anyway.

He can't look at her. He's seen her blue eyes shining with tears before and it shakes him every time. It makes him want to reach out to her, hold her close, whisper against the soft and sweetly-scented tendrils of her hair. She won't want that today. Maybe, never again. But he hopes, he bloody hopes, that she'll come around again, be his Gillian again. He hopes he hasn't ruined the one non-familial relationship he values above all else.

* * *

She doesn't know when she stopped lying to herself, when she realised she was neck-deep in denial and found her way out.

She thinks she had to have been watching him in one of those moments where he was watching her. Something in the way he'd look at her would make her _really_ look at him. Not just what was obvious in front of her, but all that she knew was underneath. His true concern for all people, his kindness, his hope, and all the love he never really let come through. He was so much more than he'd let on. But he had let her see more than anyone else. He'd let her see his true self.

That was the Cal she fell in love with; the Cal who was as honest himself as he wished everyone else to be. The Cal who allowed her to care for him, that would tell her when he was terrified or hurting instead of drawing lines in the sand and pushing her over them.

At some point (and she has no idea which), Gillian fell in love with her best friend. At some point, friendly conversation wasn't enough. She had wanted to know all the dark corners of his soul, all the brightness too. At some point, she had decided that she wanted all of him, even the bits he wasn't quite ready to give.

She promises herself she'll say something to him when Claire is dying, fading fast beneath her fingertips, her palms. Pressure on open wounds really hurts, but sometimes it's the only way to go on. Sometimes, it's not even enough. She's going to have to open herself up and let the blood flow or she'll never be able to live with herself. She knows he won't let her bleed out. He could never do that. Question is (always has been, really) will he put pressure on the wound and wait for someone else to save her or will he pick up the needle himself and sew her back together again?

* * *

She's turned away from him, tears falling furiously, her breath hitching and rasping and hiccuping. He knows he can't stay.

Another apology tiptoes along his tongue and he's about to open his mouth when she speaks.

"Would you please go?" She's asking and he can feel himself shatter.

He's learned a thing or two about hearing things in Gillian's voice. And this is her pain; raw and real, her shame, her embarrassment.

He touches her arm and she recoils reflex-quick. She recoils and part of him furls up inside. It's like salt in the wound and it bloody hurts. But, what else could he do?

"I really am sorry, love. Hope it doesn't drive a wedge, yeah?"

It hurts him so much to walk away, so damn much. But he doesn't deserve the peace he usually feels in her presence. He hurt her, so he deserves hell. Funny that with every departing step, he can feel the flames hotter against his skin.

* * *

They're sitting in her office, rather than his for once and her glass is full of wine instead of scotch. And wine, it brings a different kind of looseness to her, laxens her posture into a glorious stretch and her mouth so that words she hadn't planned to say come tumbling out and expressions she meant to hide sit openly on her face.

He knows she's got a confession to make.

"You can tell me anythin', Gill. You know that."

"I love you," she says quickly, closing her eyes to his scrutiny.

"I don't quite know since when, but I know it's real, Cal. Bigger and scarier than anything I've ever felt before."

She sneaks a look at him from under her lashes, noting surprise on his face along with something he keeps half-hidden.

It's quiet for too long, Cal just looking at her as if she's told him gravity can work upwards, too. As if she'd told him something he knew to be impossible.

"Say something," she begs, fear creeping into her expression.

When she's met with too many beats of stunned silence, she whispers.

"Anything."

Tears start to gather in her eyes as she looks at him, his face closed off from her watching, his voice never leaving his mouth to reach her ears. And sometimes, saying nothing hurts worse than anything at all. Sometimes silence hurts more than words ever could.

* * *

He staggers into his home drunk, bumbling loudly around as he takes off his shoes and coat. He thought that the scotch would numb him, but he's still burning. Maybe, it really is hell. Maybe, it'll never go away.

His time in the kitchen brings the sound of clanging pots and pans and dropping things while he yells expletives at the objects that seem to betray him. He burns his toast. Beans, too.

It seems everything's falling to ashes.

Emily comes down the stairs, sleepy eyes and wild hair, and demands to know what the fuss is. And when Cal looks at her, the only other person who had a strong enough hold on his heart to break it, his walls crumble.

She's got a sweet concern in her eyes, just like that look Gill would get when he was about to do something stupid. And the thought of Gill no longer making that expression is enough to bring him right to the verge of tears.

Emily was never supposed to see her father falter.

* * *

"Gill," he says, so quietly she can only recoginse that he's spoken and not what he's said.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, vulnerability and openness emanating from her in the same way his anxiousness rolls off of him. She's almost angry with his refusal to drop his mask and let her read him. It surely stings, having been so open, letting him in, only to be rewarded with a door in the face.

"Gill," he repeats, shakily. "You're bloody gorgeous and you're an amazing woman. But, I don't feel that way about you. You're my best friend."

Her heart falls to her feet before she can react enough to catch it. Her reflexes have never been that great anyway. So she's shattered on the ground and he can see it. He can see just the effect his words had taken. But, Gillian had never known words could wound her this deeply. It doesn't even matter that she knew they weren't the truth.

* * *

She's alone in her office, no light except her desk lamp. She's sitting in her desk chair, turned a full 180 degrees so she can stare out the window. Her tears have finally ceased.

She's more resigned than she thought she could be, especially knowing that most of what he had said was a lie.

He doesn't _not_ love her, doesn't necessarily mean he does either. But there's some bit of untruth, some bit of fear. She can't seem to quell her hope, though. Maybe he does love her, just isn't ready to be with her. Maybe he's afraid.

He doesn't _not_ love her, but he will not take the steps to be with her. He won't even tell her the truth.

She breathes out a sigh as she makes her decision. She isn't going to confront him. She's going to take a warm bath and drink a glass or two of red wine to forget today's sorrows. Tomorrow, she'll lie, too.

She'll tell herself she doesn't love Cal Lightman until she believes it and he does, too.

They both know it's better that way.


End file.
